


Mortals Among Lovers

by Wubspon3



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Major Character Injury, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Soulmate AU- Immortals, immortal au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-07 07:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15904134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wubspon3/pseuds/Wubspon3
Summary: From the earliest historical records found, humans have always been separated into two groups: lovers, and mortals.The lovers are eternal, young until they meet those who match the mark that both, or on occasion, all three, were born with, eventually taking their place on the second world, Paradise, to leave their past life behind.The mortals fit their title, unmarked, with, as legend says, no relationship that could ever be as fulfilling as those of the lovers. Doomed to death, never to see Paradise.There has never been record of a mortal taking a place among the lovers.





	1. Chapter 1

Brock went under fully expecting to die, without his mark, and with the knowledge that he’d never see one on his skin. He wasn’t one of those precious few, he wasn’t meant for Paradise.

If his aging past the stage of “forever young” hadn’t confirmed it, this had. Hydra, and its collapse, the end of another Mortal. One of those things, nobody would think twice about.

Mortals died every day, a Hydra agent would be no different, to Lovers, even to other mortals.

At least, he figured, the end would bring some relief. He didn’t have to search anymore, didn’t have to strive to make his short life meaningful in comparison. He didn't have to pretend to Rogers that his war-era other half was dead, that he could fill some hole in the Super Soldier that just wasn’t meant for him to fit into. And, even better, according to what society insisted, a pair of Lovers was united again. He wasn’t stupid, he’d seen the way Rogers looked at the man halfway between Asset and human. At least, he felt, more than consciously thought, the pain of the cement crushing his chest and leg was lifted.

It was over.

 

\----

 

The steady turned irregular beeping was more annoying than usual, Jack must have left his alarm on again. As close as Brock’s second in command was to his other half, they weren’t two parts of a whole, they’d never slot together as one. They had their disagreements, they always did. Brock never liked how Jack would leave the alarm on in the morning, the kind you had to swat at a few times before it shut up.

The beeping only sped up when he lifted his hand to try and switch it off, the damn thing must finally have been running out of batteries. He just wished Jack would turn the lights on, or tell the other voices to get out of their bedroom.

 

\----

 

Steve didn’t know what to say. Clearly, Bucky was alive,  _ his _ Bucky, whether he remembered his other half or not. With Bucky missing, Steve felt hollow. Empty. Emptier than he had while thinking he was dead. Somehow, knowing his Lover was out there, somewhere, scared and avoiding him, hurt worse than thinking he was dead.

He didn’t know how he could be so stupid. It wasn’t like Lovers surviving tragedy until Ascending hadn’t been well documented before. That left another empty spot in him.

Then again, most of that emptiness could be from seeing the man he’d taken as a makeshift partner in a hospital bed, dead to the world, and, thankfully, to what remained of Shield. If it weren’t for the slow, even hissing from something that wasn’t even technically part of him, Steve would think the same of the motionless body.

Another source of confusion, questioning what he  _ should _ feel, and what he  _ did _ feel and think. That was the last thing he needed, another moral crisis. Everybody he knew, Sam, Nat, Sharon, all of them said the same thing. To let Bucky come back when he was ready, and Ascend when he was ready for that, too. They told him to forget about anyone else, that they’d be waiting for him just as patiently as Steve still waited to see anybody he knew who had Ascended, to never lose friendships again. At first listen, it seemed like a reasonable plan. It was, after all, the unquestioned system that had been in place for centuries. People his parents knew had Ascended, taking their place in Paradise, and as soon as Steve hit the ice, he knew he was destined to, that he had the same right, no, some claimed,  _ obligation _ to take himself and his Lover to Paradise. The other half he was destined for. There were few who didn’t, still alive and roaming the Earth, most choosing to help other find their own destined, if they had one.

After waking up, Steve stopped listening. He stopped questioning the Ascension in voice, leaving the rebel in him silent, screaming in his mind against the unfairness, the unjustness of recycling a soul until deemed “ready” in a current form to enter paradise, twisted and different from where it had started out. That was the most common belief, and with no way to prove or disprove it, it had continued as an explanation of what happened to Mortals when they died. When they  _ died. _ When they ceased to exist. Steve never bought into the alternative presented, not that it was much better.

Staring at the man he’d been begged to forget, told to leave behind as soon as he saw Bucky again, Steve knew he had another reason to rebel.


	2. Chapter 2

  
  


It wasn’t like he didn’t know what happened, after a few weeks separating himself and the situation. Steve wasn’t stupid, he knew Hydra would be back. If Shield was already rebuilding, its insidious companion and counter would rise again to match it.

“You’re really still here? He’s Hydra, what’s the point?” Sam meant well, Steve knew he did. The stigma of a relationship between a Lover and Mortal was strong, and some said, for good reason, especially if said Lover had already found their other. Even if Sam had good intentions, the centuries of precedent clouded his vision, and that was all before the ugly beast of Hydra reared its regrown heads.

Steve forced out a press conference worthy smile, coming up with a quick plan. Play the grieving Lover, praying for his other’s safe return. “Trust me, I like being here as much as you do,” he lied through his teeth. Though, it wasn’t all a lie, he did hate seeing the Mortal in question unconscious and clearly injured. “He might know where Bucky could have gone. That’s all I want.” Another lie. “Might as well get some more use out of him.  _ That’s _ the point.” His stomach turned with every new sentence, aware of how awful it would be if it were real, manipulating and degrading in some of the worst ways. For once, he was thankful Rumlow wasn’t awake or aware enough to hear the conversation.

 

\----

 

By the time Brock woke up enough to realize who was in the room, Steve was already halfway out the door without as much as a glance back, leaving him to wonder over whether it had been a hallucination. Wouldn’t that be some sort of cosmic middle finger, hallucinating somebody who probably wanted him dead more than anybody else, still too drugged up to distinguish between that and what around him could potentially be a solid piece of reality. It was always easier to give in to the cloud that morphine derivatives offered than to anxiously wait for the ceiling to start crawling again, easier to give up again than to pull against restraints, both the physical ache of every muscle and inch of remaining skin, and those of the primal fears of destruction, more intact than any other piece of mind or body.

It was easier to be pulled into dreamless sleep than to tug on the rope to fight for unrestrained consciousness, and all it brought with it, again.

 

\----

 

Pacing didn’t help. Usually, it provided at least some kind of relief, an outlet for the excess energy that made Steve’s thoughts thick and harder to process. This time, the pent up energy only increased, not flowing out, instead sloshing back and forth, building with each new wave. It got harder and harder not to put his fist through the drywall, tear his hair out,  _ anything _ to ease the frustration the conversations with Sam had brought. If he was going to go through with what he wanted to, a  _ huge _ if, it would have to be done in secret.

Shield couldn’t know. Sam couldn’t know. Natasha couldn’t know, no, especially not Natasha. There was nobody he could tell, with his only two confidants that would have faith in such a situation being lost to the wind and the focus of said problem.

As far as he knew, with all the looking through books and the rare articles online he found, few had questioned, let alone attempted such a thing. It was ludicrous to question, the system of what was practically soulmates had been a reality for as long as human history had, to leave that behind was unheard of.

Would it be a rejection of his Other? They’d only once ever talked about Ascending, Bucky insisting they wait until the end of the war, they both were needed, to their team, to the effort.

At the time, Steve had wholeheartedly agreed. Now, with Bucky ambiguously  _ somewhere, _ and Brock in a very real, very determinable location, he didn’t think it was as easy to just go with one.

_ He’s your Other, _ Sam had insisted. He was right, Bucky was his other half, in the most literal sense possible. They had grown up together, lived together, loved together, every flaw and pain in each. They were, for lack of a better word, designed for each other.

_ I know, _ Steve shot back, as he always did. He wasn’t blind, or stupid, he was well aware of who his Bucky was, and always would be, Hydra programming or not.  _ I know. Just give me some time, okay? I promise. _ Trying to smile, he lied. He promised Sam that as soon as Bucky was found, they would Ascend, supposedly shedding the years of what Hydra had done. That didn’t have much documentation either, years of brainwashing, of trauma, of whatever unspeakable acts his Other had been subjected to, all vanishing with the ceremony.

Steve never much bought into leaving problems behind so easily. Another big if, if Bucky agreed to Ascend, Steve would never push such a major decision, he was sure it would be after confronting at least some of the past. They weren’t children, or young, not anymore. Despite what their faces boldly claimed, the years had passed, had taken their toll on minds and souls.

Now or never, Steve repeated, quieting the excess energy, leaving only enough to see his decision clearly.

“Now or never,” he whispered to himself, texting Sam and Natasha that he’d be out of town looking for Bucky, the only blatant lie he’d told them so far, one of soon to be many, one that still made his stomach knot and flip.

“Now or never,” he repeated again in a quiet murmur, right before flashing a generic Shield identification card to the person at the desk, keeping his head down as he cited “Shield business” for coming so far past visiting hours. With any luck, it was enough.

With his luck, it would be too much to just be enough.


	3. Chapter 3

  
  
  


This was  _ such _ a bad idea. Was it technically a crime? Steve didn’t know. He wished he’d thought it out more beforehand, he was woefully unprepared both for the act itself, and the further disaster that came after. His apartment  _ definitely _ hadn’t been prepared, aside from the note on the door and the lights turned off to give the illusion he was truly gone, even when he did come back that night.

The window of the hospital room was, thankfully, unsecured. Wherever Shield was building themselves up again, they hadn’t reached their still infected claws in just yet. Perfect timing.

Either that, or even Shield wasn’t keen on wasting resources on somebody that wasn’t likely to wake up, let alone try to climb out the window. Whatever the reason, he was sure they didn’t anticipate a Super Soldier making his way out the window either.

For once, he was grateful for Stark’s interventions into his life, otherwise he wouldn’t have a car parked close to the window. Even with it being first story, it made the follow through of his half baked plan that much easier.

Half out the window, with a folded up paper in his pocket, bag filled with as much as he could fit inside it, Brock carefully in his arms, Steve almost laughed at his second thoughts, too little and far too late to stop what was already, quite literally, in motion. Even his doubts were a mess, jumbled words and fears attempting to come together in a coherent way. He knew that if anybody had started talking to him in that moment, he’d either run or fall apart. Again, for once, he was glad the Mortal now laid carefully in the backseat wasn’t awake.

 

\----

 

A part of Brock was aware of movement through the confusingly lifting and sinking cloud that had previously been steady in its place of suppressing true consciousness. Even then, it was solidly in place enough to prevent him from opening his eyes, from putting together the energy to consider the situation, what each bump and jostle could be, from, thankfully, each of those extra movements hurting. Still, some of it managed to break through the haze, the most worrying part, if he’d had the capacity to worry about it. The only thing that truly lifted away a piece of the weight on his somewhat awake mind was a pressure on his arm, unlike the cold and unfeeling pressures and pricks he’d occasionally registered in the past weeks.

 

\----

 

The closer Steve got back to his apartment, the more aware he became in his own actions, the crazier he knew he was. It was a mess, no, past that, it had become a nightmare to work out in just seconds before it wouldn’t be reasonable to be sitting still in the parking lot anymore.

Even nightmares had an expiration date, even those asleep in terror had to eventually wake up, had to face the world with bright smiles, had to hide themselves away under cover of free time. At the moment, Steve would have given a lot to wake up.

It was one thing to realize what he’d done, and that it was far too late to undo it, another thing entirely to try and scramble together another plan, with only enough time in his self-imposed limit to think of the basics, whispering to himself the entire time.

Up the stairs in the dead of night, as nearly silent as he always was, despite the creaks of the wood and walls settling around them. Every moment, every step, he prayed again that Brock wouldn’t wake up for another second, another minute, another hour. Another day. The half of him that hated Hydra was continuously growing stronger against and being silenced by the half that loved the individual, lost in each other, ignoring the bigger picture in favor of his own wants.

For once, it felt good to drop the weight of worrying about the final outcome. It felt good to not be guilty, to live in his present decisions with no guilt, regardless of what those choices were, what they held. Questioning them never came to mind, following the most current desires, breaking the paths set by the silently vocal hands ghosting over every inch of his life, over his very soul and free will.

He had always valued free will more than rules anyways.

 

\----

 

Three days in, and Steve started to worry. Three days of silence that felt heavier than it had when he was alone in his apartment, three days since his biggest rebellion since waking up from the ice, if one were to ignore that he was the main cause of Shield’s collapse to begin with.

He didn’t dwell on what it meant that he was the main cause of a much more physical collapse.

The first night, Steve told himself he’d sleep on the couch. Less than ten minutes staring at the ceiling, and he sat next to the bed instead, glancing up at Brock every time he started to nod off, almost a warning, almost a reminder, not quite either.

The first day, after counting hours and shaky breaths, was filled with the euphoria that came when the worry eased off, left with only the pros of his actions, not taking into account any of the drawbacks, not seeing the need to address a single one of them.

The second night, he’d fallen asleep after a handful of restless hours, the following day not much different than the prior, although evened out, not quite as joyous.

Three days since he’d taken Brock, though if asked, he’d never phrase it that way, and no sign of consciousness from the Mortal. Steve didn’t understand, to him, it seemed as if there should be no reason he wasn’t waking up. Then again, even he couldn’t ignore the obvious injuries, nearly every inch covered. Maybe he  _ had _ gotten in too deep. Maybe he should call Sam, or Natasha, or  _ somebody. _

Maybe he could hold off on alerting anybody.

It wasn’t exactly studied, certainly not condoned, but in the war, there had been what some would call experimentation. Steve and the Commandos prefered to call it “thinking on their feet,” and nobody could deny that it had saved lives.

Nobody could deny that the blood of a Super Soldier had incredible healing properties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this wasn't necessarily a very eventful chapter, I promise it picks up soon! Comments and suggestions always welcome : )


End file.
